


The Guest

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-06-25 15:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15643902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: Rhaegar visits Storm’s End during Robert’s absence. Stannis has to fill his brother’s place and act the host to the Prince of Dragonstone.





	1. Chapter 1

**281 AC**

“The view is beautiful from up here,” Rhaegar said, as he and Stannis stood at the parapet, looking out to Shipbreaker Bay.

The view was certainly  _not_  beautiful the day Windproud sank, the day Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana returned from their ill-fated mission to find a bride for Prince Rhaegar in Volantis. A bride with the blood of Old Valyria, because no other bride was good enough for his heir, King Aerys insisted. And yet, barely a year after the death of Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana, the king arranged for his son’s betrothal to Princess Elia of Dorne, a woman from Westeros, not Volantis. A woman with some Targaryen blood in her lineage, inherited from Princess Daenerys Targaryen, who married Prince Maron Martell a few generations ago.  

_There she is, a woman with the blood of Old Valyria, right here in Westeros. My mother and father need not have died at all, if your father had betrothed you to Elia of Dorne from the start._

Only the solemn reminder from Maester Cressen that he must be a gracious host managed to stay Stannis’ tongue from voicing this thought out loud to Rhaegar.

“The last time I visited Storm’s End, it was for a tourney,” Rhaegar continued.  

“I remember. You unhorsed my father in the joust.”

Rhaegar smiled. “Ahhh … it was no great achievement of mine, truly. Cousin Steffon was gracious enough to allow me –“

Stannis frowned. “My father did not allow you to defeat him on purpose, to curry favor with you, or with the king. Your victory was your own. You defeated him fairly, not because he was deliberatelytrying to lose.”

Rhaegar was taken aback. “I did not mean to imply that Cousin Steffon was trying to curry favor with anyone, only that he was gracious enough to allow me to shine.”

 _You must be a gracious host, Stannis, like your lord father always was,_  Maester Cressen had said.

Robert would have known how to be a gracious host. Or perhaps not. Robert would be more charming than gracious. He would try to charm the guest with endless talk about himself and his own prowess, which, strangely enough, seemed to be a successful approach with many guests. This had never ceased to astound Stannis. How could extreme self-regard be seen as charming rather than boorish? But perhaps, he thought, cynically, everything a man said and did would be considered  _charming_  if he was handsome enough, and held a powerful enough position in life.

Lord Steffon’s notion of being a gracious host was chiefly about endeavoring to draw the guest out, to encourage the guest to talk about himself. In that same spirit, Stannis asked (though not sounding as naturally and smoothly as his father would have sounded), “The tourney at Harrenhal … will you be entering the lists, Prince Rhaegar?”

Rhaegar smiled again, but his smile was a rueful one, this time. “Alas, I must. For my sins.”

For his sins? What sins did he mean, exactly? wondered Stannis.

 _Seven hells, Stannis! Don’t be so bloody literal all the time,_ Robert would have carped.

“You  _must_ , you said. Why?” Stannis asked, bluntly.

Rhaegar laughed, as if to hide his discomfort. “It is … well, it is merely a figure of speech, saying that I must. I am expected to, I should say. What about you, Cousin Stannis? Will you be entering the lists at Harrenhal?”

“No, I will not be in the lists. I will not be attending the tourney at all,” replied Stannis.

Rhaegar waited for more explanation. Stannis thought he had fully answered Rhaegar’s question. The awkward silence, as each of them expected the other to speak, went on for quite a while. Finally, Rhaegar cleared his throat and said, “Well ... we will miss seeing your prowess at Harrenhal, I’m sure.”

“I have no particular prowess in jousting, unlike my brother.”

“And will we be seeing Cousin Robert at Harrenhal?”

Stannis nodded.  

“Good. That is good,” Rhaegar said. “I look forward to seeing him there.” After a pause, he added, “I had hoped to find Cousin Robert at Storm’s End before the tourney. Will he be away for long?”

“He has gone to visit Lord Arryn, his foster father. We had a raven the day before yesterday, informing us of his safe arrival at the Eyrie. He plans to stay for three weeks, at the least. If you had written to let us know that you were coming, perhaps –”

“I had not planned to visit Storm’s End. We were on our way back to Dragonstone from the ruins of Summerhall, when the thought struck me that I had not visited my cousins of Baratheon for quite some time.” 

The other part of the “we” was Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard, currently standing some paces behind Stannis and Rhaegar, at a distance far enough that he could not be accused of eavesdropping, but still close enough to come to Rhaegar’s rescue, in the event –

_What is it that they fear I might do? Throw the Prince of Dragonstone over the parapet? Strangle him with his long, streaming hair?_

With his father’s face and Maester Cressen’s reminder looming large in his mind, Stannis forced himself to say, “Storm’s End is honored by your visit, Prince Rhaegar,” as graciously as he could manage, which was probably not very gracious at all.

_Where were you, or your father, when my father and mother were buried? It did not occur to you to visit Storm’s End back then. It did not occur to you to wonder how your cousins of Baratheon were faring back then. Your father cared more about blaming Tywin Lannister for the shipwreck, using my father and mother as mere pawns in his struggles against Lord Tywin. And you, where were you, Prince Rhaegar, three years ago? Why this sudden concern for the fate of your cousins of Baratheon, three years too late? What do you want from us? What do you want from Robert, from the Lord of Storm’s End?_

He must warn Robert to be cautious and wary of the Prince of Dragonstone, Stannis decided. 

“I should have visited Storm’s End more often, when Cousin Steffon was still alive,” Rhaegar said, with a faraway look in his eyes. “There are many questions about the tragedy at Summerhall I could have asked him. My own father and mother never spoke of the fire. Cousin Steffon –“

“My father never spoke of the fire either,” Stannis said, curtly.  

 _I promised. I promised my mother that we would never speak of it,_ Steffon Baratheon had said, on the rare occasions he had been asked about Summerhall. He had never broken that promise, as far as Stannis knew.  

“I was born on the day of the great tragedy. Did you know that?” asked Rhaegar.

Stannis nodded. How could he not know? The melancholy prince, born in grief, born amidst the tears and sorrows of Summerhall. Singers and storytellers delighted in telling that tale, each adding their own twists and embellishments, because even a real tragedy was apparently not tragic enough for the spinners of songs and stories.  _Vultures_ , thought Stannis. They were all vultures, feasting on the grief of others.  

“I have written a song,” said Rhaegar, as they were going down the stairs, “that I hope to present during the feast tonight, to show my appreciation for the warm welcome I have received in Storm’s End.”  

“A song?”

“A song honoring the great love between Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana.  _Even death could not tear them asunder,_ that is the title of the song.”

Stannis was appalled.

_You can sing of Summerhall to your heart’s content; that is your tragedy, your own story. But not my father and mother. Not them! You have no right, no right at all to make use of their love, life and demise to serve your own purpose._


	2. Chapter 2

“I _told_  you that we should have musicians at the feast,” Great-Uncle Harbert admonished Stannis. “But you insisted that there was no need for it. It is now too late to engage a company of musicians. How will the prince sing without any accompaniment?”

“He has no need for musicians. The silver-stringed harp is the only musical accompaniment he needs. He told me this himself,” replied Stannis.  

“And who will be playing this harp, pray tell? Patchface? You?”

Stannis frowned. “The jape is beneath you, Uncle. Prince Rhaegar himself will be playing his harp, of course.”

“It does him great credit, great credit indeed, to honor Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana in this manner,” Maester Cressen said, his eyes moist, looking and sounding very touched.

Stannis was very disappointed. How could Maester Cressen not understand why Stannis would find it such an abhorrent notion? The maester usually saw more than most, and understood more than most, when it came to Lord Steffon’s second son.   

“The prince seems to be a very admirable man. He speaks very naturally to all and sundry, even to the lowest of servants. And look how simply he travels, with no large retinue, and only a single Kingsguard accompanying him,” Maester Cressen continued.

Stannis knew better than most that the maester was not the kind of man who would mouth insincere platitudes and words of praise to curry favor with this lord or that prince. His words were sincere and heartfelt, and that made it worse, somehow.

_Why do you not see what I see, Maester?_

Harbert Baratheon scoffed. “Only a single Kingsguard accompanying him? Hah!”

“Do you know any different, Uncle? Are we to play host to more members of Prince Rhaegar’s retinue other than Ser Arthur?” It was bad enough that Rhaegar had descended on Storm’s End without any prior notice, deciding to visit the castle almost on a whim, it seemed.

“Nay, have no worry on that score, Stannis. The other knights and men-at-arms escorting Prince Rhaegar always travel well behind him and Arthur Dayne, spending the night in modest inns and taverns. Unlike the prince, they will not be troubling us with a surprise visit.”

“What is the reason for this peculiar custom?” questioned Stannis.

“The reason is Prince Rhaegar’s wish to travel simply to the ruins of Summerhall, as if he is one of the common people of the realm, as he himself puts it. He would not suffer a large retinue to accompany him to Summerhall. Thus, those additional knights and men-at-arms must keep far enough so they would not be seen as part of the prince’s retinue, but still close enough to come to his defense if he is in any great danger.”

“How do you know about this, Uncle?”

“Your father told me about the matter. He and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard arranged for this additional protection for the prince, after your father was appointed to the king’s small council. Your father thought that it was reckless beyond belief, to allow the heir to the throne to travel across the realm accompanied only by a single Kingsguard, especially considering the fact that the prince was travelling as  _himself_ , as Prince Rhaegar, the Prince of Dragonstone and the heir to the throne, not in disguise as a common man.”

“Does the prince know, Uncle, about these additional guards following him to Summerhall?”

“It probably does not suit him to notice. It would ruin the image of the oh-so-natural prince, the humble prince, the people’s prince who does not put on any airs and graces,” replied Great-Uncle Harbert, sardonically. “Better to feint ignorance than to shatter the illusion that he is a very special kind of prince, unlike others of his birth and station.”

Or perhaps the prince truly lived in a dream world of his own creation, and his ignorance was not feinted at all.  _That_ , thought Stannis, was a far more dangerous state of affair.

Maester Cressen looked faintly scandalized. “Ser Harbert, I really do not think that Prince Rhaegar would –“ 

He was interrupted by the sound of knocking on the door. Arthur Dayne stepped in and said, “Forgive me if I am interrupting, my lords.”

Stannis wondered if Arthur Dayne had heard what Great-Uncle Harbert was saying about Prince Rhaegar. The expression on his face did not betray anything, but how long had he been waiting outside the door? Was he sent by the Prince of Dragonstone to spy on them?

 _To be cautious is a virtue, Stannis, but to be overly suspicious is not,_ his father had often reminded him.

 _But Father, there were times when I thought that you were not suspicious enough, to your own detriment,_ argued Stannis, to the ghost roaming inside his head.

“Ser Arthur, how may we help you?” Maester Cressen asked, graciously.

“Prince Rhaegar is wondering if his cousin would be kind enough to give him a tour of this remarkably beautiful castle.” Those words sounded stiff and forced coming from Arthur Dayne’s mouth.  _He must be repeating his prince’s words,_ thought Stannis.

“The prince is waiting in the courtyard,” Arthur Dayne continued, in a blunter tone that suited his demeanor better.  

**____________________**

“Is it true that there are spells woven into the walls of Storm’s End, and that is the reason the castle has never been breached for thousands of years?” asked Rhaegar, as his eyes took the measure of Storm’s End colossal drum tower.   

“That is merely a legend, Your Grace,” replied Stannis.

“Some legends are based on facts, Cousin Stannis,” said Rhaegar, in a kindly tone and with an indulgent smile.

Rhaegar’s kindly tone and indulgent smile did not sit well with Stannis. He thought it was patronizing, to say the least, and he was not the sort of man who would take kindly to being patronized, no matter how well-intentioned or oblivious to the offense he was causing the patronizer might be. He replied, heatedly, “Legends are  _distortions_  of facts. They are by nature  _incompatible_  with facts. That is why they are called legends.”

“So you have no faith that spells could protect a castle?”

“I put my faith in stones and steels, not in spells.”

“You do not believe in magic, Cousin Stannis? Or in prophecies?”

Stannis shook his head. “Magic has never proven its efficacy to me. I cannot believe in magic, or in anything else for that matter, without proof.”

“Proof of its existence, or proof of its efficacy?” questioned Rhaegar.

“Both.”

“A pity. There are more things in heaven and earth than only what we could see and what we could hear, than only what we could sense with our external senses. Our great-grandfather believed in a certain …  _prophecy_. He believed that the dragons would return someday.”

“And his folly brought us the tragedy at Summerhall,” Stannis pointedly reminded his cousin.

“His folly was not in the belief that the dragons would return, but in the means he employed to achieve his end.”

“Bringing back the dragon was not his end. He wanted a better realm, with peace, prosperity and justice for all, my father told me. The dragon itself was merely the means to that end.”

“Oh, certainly,” Rhaegar swiftly agreed. He scrutinized Stannis carefully. “You are young, Cousin Stannis. The young is usually far too certain in their …  _disbelief_. Once you are –“

“Once I am older and wiser, I would know better? May I remind you, Prince Rhaegar, that you are only five years older than I am?”

Rhaegar smiled his enigmatic smile that was tinged with an air of melancholy. “Indeed. But I feel a thousand years older at times. I feel like I have lived many different lives in many different ages of men.”

 _What nonsense_ , seethed Stannis. That smile, and those words, as softly as they were spoken, grated on Stannis as much as the sound of wild laughter and raucous shouting at a feast had always grated on him. 

His mother would not have been impressed with Prince Rhaegar’s words either, thought Stannis.  _There is only one life, and it is the one we are living now_ , Cassana Estermont had often reminded her sons.

**____________________**

“You must think that it is unusual, Cousin Stannis,” Rhaegar said, as Stannis was escorting him to the great hall, “for a prince to sing and play the harp at a feast honoring him.”

“I did not say that, Your Grace.”

 _But you imply it_ , the look on Rhaegar’s face was implying. He continued, “It is not so unusual for members of the royal family to sing. King Aenys was reputed to be a very fine singer, with a sweet yet strong voice. And after his death, his widowed queen sang a dirge at his funeral, to honor their love, and to honor his love of songs.”

“Dowager Queen Alyssa had a more pressing reason for singing that dirge at King Aenys’ funeral.”

“A more pressing reason?”

“She wanted to examine the look on the faces of the lords and knights assembled in Dragonstone, as she sang of the death of kings and the sorrow of a realm. She needed to see if they could be trusted to be loyal to her eldest son, who was King Aenys’ rightful successor. Their reaction to her dirge convinced her that she could not count on their support to defend her son’s rights and to protect the lives of her children, and that she must make other arrangements to safeguard her children and their inheritance.”

The shadow of a frown crossed Rhaegar’s countenance, but it was quickly smoothed out again. “How interesting,” the prince pronounced. “I did not know that. It is not to be found in any books about Targaryen history and lore that I have read, and I have read many of them.”

“It is not in any Archmaester’s account. It is a family tradition, passed down through the generations. I heard it from my father, and he heard it from his father, who heard it from  _his_  father. Dowager Queen Alyssa married Lord Robar Baratheon and bore two more children, including Boremund Baratheon, from whom I am descended.”

“Of course. How could I have forgotten? Did Lord Robar sing a dirge at her funeral?”

“She outlived Lord Robar for a number of years.”

“I did not know that either. She was the elder by some years, I gather, from the same generation as his father. That is why I assume that she had predeceased him.”

“She did not.”

Rhaegar was making some remark or other about what a remarkable romance the marriage between Alyssa Velaryon and Robar Baratheon must have been, despite their age difference, but Stannis was no longer listening. The mention of Dowager Queen Alyssa made him wonder if the Prince of Dragonstone’s predilection for singing and playing his silver-stringed harp at feasts and tourneys also served a more pressing purpose, a  _political_  purpose.

* * *

 

A/N: If you’re interested, I wrote a drabble about Alyssa Velaryon singing a dirge at her first husband’s funeral [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8863237/chapters/28182993) and a fic about Alyssa outliving her second husband [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016187) :D


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